Uncle Sherlock?
by HLJ137
Summary: A collection of one-shots set a few years into the future, detailing the interactions between Joan, Sherlock, and Joan's adopted son. Family cuteness and some Joanlock. Basically fluff :) Inspired by ep. 6x13 "Breathe".
1. Uncle Sherlock?

_A/N: after watching "Breathe", I just couldn't resist writing this. It's pretty fluffy but I hope you all like it! Bonus points for anyone who can figure out where I got Joan's son's name, because I'll admit to being awful at coming up with names myself lol. (Hint: see Joan's favorite author mentioned in ep 1x06)._

xxxx

Sherlock sat at the kitchen table with case files spread out around him. He was studying the files while keeping an eye on the boy across from him. The child was working on his homework, so Sherlock kept him in the same room so they'd both stay on task. It was slightly distracting, constantly ensuring the boy was still working diligently, but Sherlock found he didn't mind the distraction.

Watson was out for the evening, having dinner with her sister. Though she had offered to get a sitter for her son, Sherlock had assured her he would quite like some quality time with the child. Watson had warily agreed.

The boys had spent the better part of the evening in the living room, Sherlock teaching the boy how to pick several different locks. He was quite pleased with how quickly the boy caught on. He was proving to be nearly as good a pupil as his mother had been. Sherlock wished he could spend the entirety of the evening teaching the boy his tricks. However, as part of the deal for letting the boys stay home alone together, Sherlock had promised Watson he would make sure the boy's homework was finished before his mother returned. So, to their mutual displeasure, the boys had recently moved to the kitchen to get some work done.

Glancing across the table at the child's paper, Sherlock was impressed to see how much progress his handwriting had made. Across the top of the page he had written _"Alex Li Watson"._ It was quite a bit more legible than the last time Sherlock had seen Alex write his name, and Sherlock was struck by how quickly the boy was growing up. Had it really been nine years since Watson had brought him home? The time was passing too quickly. Displeased by that thought, Sherlock returned his attention to the files in front of him.

A few minutes later, Sherlock heard Alex's pencil cease marking up his paper. He assumed the boy was stuck on a problem. After a short pause, Alex said, "Uncle Sherlock?" Sherlock looked up from his files inquiringly, nodding for the boy to continue. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course, Alex," Sherlock said, putting the files aside with an indulgent smile. He assumed the boy wanted help with his homework. "What is it?"

Alex gave him a furtive glance and then looked away, as if he were afraid to ask whatever was on his mind. Sherlock's interest grew as he realized the boy must be wondering about more than just his homework. After a few awkward seconds, Alex asked, "how did you and my mom meet?"

Sherlock was momentarily stunned by the question, unexpected as it was. As the boy was growing up, Sherlock and Watson had skirted the issue of their past, never bringing up how they'd ended up in their relatively unconventional living situation. They'd always treated their living situation as normal, and Alex had never questioned it. He knew his "Uncle Sherlock" was his mom's friend and working partner, but not much more. So far he had never asked. But Alex was growing up, and Sherlock should have figured Alex would notice that his living situation wasn't the same as those of his friends. He was a bright child and was bound to ask questions at some point.

Figuring the boy wasn't old enough to hear the full story of his drug use and the boy's mother's role in his early struggle with sobriety, Sherlock sought for a way to explain their meeting to the boy, deliberately obscuring the details without lying.

After a pause, Sherlock realized Alex was staring at him with wide eyes, waiting for an answer with plaintive childhood curiosity. Sherlock coughed and shifted in his chair to buy himself some time, finally saying, "many years ago I was going through a hard time in my life, and your mother..." He paused before continuing, "she helped me through it. It was her job at the time, helping people like me who needed someone like her." Sherlock stopped, wondering if that would be enough of an explanation for the curious boy. It felt inadequate, as Joan Watson had done far more than simply "help" him, but Sherlock was unsure of how much to say to the boy. It was never easy for him to put his relationship with Watson into simple words.

The introspective look on Alex's face reflected gears turning in his head as he absorbed what he had been told. After a few seconds, Alex asked, "does she still help you?"

Sherlock smiled to himself. "Not in the same way. But yes, she still helps me. In many more ways than one."

Alex mirrored his smile. Apparently satisfied, the boy returned to his homework and Sherlock returned to his case files.

The boys continued their separate tasks in silence for awhile. Eventually, Joan returned home and saw their silhouetted forms through the kitchen window. She smiled to herself. She knew her boys got along well, though they rarely got to spend much time alone together. They had both seemed excited at the prospect of staying together tonight, so Joan was loathe to interrupt their quiet work. She slipped in the front door, closing it as quietly as possible, hoping to observe them for a bit before either noticed she was home. She listened for a reaction to her presence and was pleased that neither of them responded. They hadn't noticed her return.

The boys were both oblivious to Joan's return, each lost in their own musings. Deep in his files, Sherlock was singularly focused on a cold case that had been bothering him. Alex was mulling over what he had been told, trying to decide whether it was okay to ask anything more.

Sherlock was momentarily unaware that Alex had finished his homework and was looking at him again. After drumming his fingers for a few seconds and not getting a response, Alex again said "Uncle Sherlock?"

Sherlock was thoroughly engrossed in a case. Without looking up, he hummed "hmmm?"

After a guilty pause, Alex blurted "do you love my mom?"

Joan, still on the other side of the wall but well within earshot, stifled a gasp. She thought of intervening and momentarily considered sweeping into the kitchen to save Sherlock from answering. But she was too slow.

Sherlock never looked up from his file, and answered without a pause or a thought, "of course I do."

Alex considered that for a moment, then asked, "then why aren't you married?"

Sherlock abruptly realized what he had just said. He dropped the file and looked up at Alex, a guilty look on his face, his cheeks flushing. "I... um..." Sherlock flustered, unsure of what to say. What had he just said? What had he admitted? Had he just admitted... He loved Watson? Why had he said that? Why hadn't he taken a second to think about his response before answering Alex's question? Why had his automatic response been to answer affirmatively? Sherlock's head was spinning. He had no answer to the boy's latest inquiry.

On the other side of the wall, Joan's heart raced. Had she heard that right? Did Sherlock just say... he _loves_ her? Joan shook her head and told herself that couldn't be right. That would be... Crazy. She must have misheard. With a deep cleansing breath, Joan opened and closed the front door again, alerting the boys to her presence before things could get any more out of hand.

At the sound of the door closing, Sherlock jumped up, looking guilty. Watson was home. Just in time to spare him from having to come up with an answer for Alex. Just in time to spare him from having to face his own response. For now.

As Joan rounded the corner into the kitchen, Sherlock was still stunned. His heart was beating far too fast. He worked to school his emotions, trying not to give Watson any hint of what they had just been talking about.

"Ah, Watson, you're home," he said, a bit too loudly. "How was dinner?"

Joan was similarly trying to still the beating of her own heart and control her expressions to remain neutral. It took her a moment to answer. "It was geat," she said, with a bit too much brightness. "It was nice to have some sister time." Moving to where her son sat at the table, she ruffled Alex's hair. "Aunt Lin says hi," she said with an indulgent smile, which Alex returned.

Alex picked up the papers that lay in front of him and handed them to his mom. "I finished my homework mama," he said.

"That's great," Joan said, taking the papers to make sure everything was complete. She was aware of Sherlock's eyes on her as she scanned the papers. She didn't think he knew she had overheard, but she wasn't sure. When she was satisfied with Alex's work, she looked up at Sherlock and met his gaze. He was staring at her with a curious look on his face, as if he couldn't quite figure her out. She blushed despite herself and looked back at Alex. Needing to fill the awkward silence, Joan asked, "Did Uncle Sherlock help you with your homework?"

The sound of his name brought Sherlock out of his internal toil back to the present. He whipped around the table and put a confident hand on Alex's shoulder. "I did not," Sherlock said with pride, "young Alex did it all on his own. The credit belongs to him."

Alex beamed. Joan smiled. "Alright Alex," she insisted, "time to get ready for bed young man." Alex groaned, but Joan ushered him toward the stairs nonetheless.

When he was gone, Sherlock and Joan found themselves momentarily alone in the kitchen. To his dismay and confusion, Sherlock's heart was racing again. He wouldn't meet her eyes.

Joan looked at him for a long moment. She thought of how exited Alex had been to "hang out with Uncle Sherlock" tonight, and how proud Alex had looked when Sherlock complimented him. Although their living situation was unconventional and presented problems at times, Sherlock was a good role model for the boy. He was always willing to teach Alex anything he wanted to know, no matter how much patience it took. It seemed to her that two of them got closer every year. Even though teachers and other parents would always look at her suspiciously, silently questioning the home life they had built for Alex, Joan marveled at how lucky she and Alex were to have Sherlock around. She was suddenly overcome with fondness for both her boys, especially the older one who would undoubtedly lay down his life for her and her son.

Before Sherlock had a chance to escape, Joan moved closer to him. He looked up at her in surprise, but she ignored him. She leaned in and placed a small kiss on his cheek, then moved her mouth next to his ear.

"I love you too, Sherlock," she whispered before disappearing up the stairs after her son.


	2. Watson?

_A/N: So I definitely intended the first chapter to be a one-shot, but then this chapter kind of just wrote itself, so here it is :) I might make this story into a collection of one-shots if you guys like it, we'll see where the muse takes me. Hope you like this small addition! Enjoy!_

xxx

On a sunny Wednesday morning, breakfast in the brownstone was proceeding as normal. Sherlock was reading the paper and eating his food, Joan stood at the stove making pancakes for Alex, and Alex was waiting at the table, impatient for his food.

Sherlock's phone chimed and he set the paper aside to read the text he had received. "Watson," he said when he had skimmed the message, "it appears we have a case."

"Okay," Joan said without turning around. "If it's urgent you go ahead. I'll get Alex on the bus to school and meet you."

Sherlock looked at his watch and shook his head. "It doesn't appear to be urgent," he assured her. "I'll wait and we can share a cab over."

"Sounds good," Joan said.

Sherlock returned his attention to the phone, re-reading the details of the case outlined in the text and considering what their first move should be.

Alex, bored with this conversation that didn't involve him, tapped his foot anxiously. After a few seconds more of boredom, Alex asked, "Uncle Sherlock?" Sherlock put his phone down and nodded for the boy to continue. Satisfied that he had Sherlock's attention, Alex asked, "Why do you call my mom Watson?" His face was serious and inquisitive, as if he had suddenly realized how strange it was that Sherlock only used Joan's last name and now demanded an explanation.

Sherlock smiled indulgently and said, "Well, because that is her name."

Alex scrunched his nose, dissatisfied with that answer. "It's my name too," he protested, "but you still call me Alex."

With her back still facing the boys, Joan smiled.

Sherlock grinned as well, amused by the boy's insistence. "I imagine it would get rather confusing if I called you both Watson, wouldn't it?" he laughed.

Alex nodded with the seriousness only children can bring to matters adults find trivial. "Yeah I guess," Alex said. "But I mean, why don't you ever call her Joan?"

Sherlock glanced over at Joan, but she was still facing the stove with her back to them. He couldn't read her expression. He considered his answer. He didn't have a very good reason, other than just habit. He momentarily wondered if it were such a good idea for them to have raised the boy to be so had certainly started asking a lot of questions about them lately.

Unable to form a helpful answer, Sherlock opted for sarcasm. "Well, what do you say Watson?" He asked her with a grin. "Should I start calling you Joan?" His voice had a joking lightness to it that Joan picked up on.

Grinning herself, she turned around to face them and crossed her arms over her chest, faking contemplation. "Oh, I don't know…" she mused. Looking at him with a smirk, she added, "If you started using my first name now, after all these years, people at the precinct might start making _assumptions_." She wiggled her eyebrows at Sherlock suggestively, and he smirked in response.

Alex, of course, missed the joke shared by the adults. "What assumptions?" he asked innocently.

Sherlock snorted. "Yes, _Joan_ ," he said half-mockingly, "what assumptions?"

Joan shook her head, giving Alex an indulgent glance. "The wrong ones," she said with a laugh.

Sherlock leaned back in his chair, putting his hands behind his head. "Oh, I don't know," he said with nonchalance. "Perhaps they wouldn't be so wrong." Joan gave him a sharp look that failed to completely hide her smirk before turning back to finish cooking.

Alex was now bored with this conversation, having no real idea what the adults were talking about or why they seemed to think it was funny. He was used to their banter though, so he dismissed it. After all, breakfast was ready, and his curiosity went out the window as soon as the plate of pancakes was set in front of him.

Sherlock returned to reading the paper as Alex ate his breakfast and Joan helped him get ready for school. As they headed toward the door, Sherlock hopped up from the table. "It's a lovely day," he said, glancing out the window. "I think I'll join you at the bus stop, if you don't mind."

This wasn't entirely unprecedented, so Joan simply nodded, busy making sure Alex didn't forget his lunchbox. Once she was satisfied that he had everything, the three of them headed outside and down the street to the corner where Alex's bus would pick him up.

They didn't have to wait long before the bus showed up. Alex gave Joan a hug, and Sherlock stuck out his fist for their customary fist bump, which Alex readily returned.

"Have a great day at school sweetie," Joan said.

"I will!" Alex said before running to the bus.

Joan and Sherlock waived to him as the bus pulled away. When it was out of sight, Sherlock turned to Joan, grinning. "Shall we catch a cab and head to the precinct, _Joan_?" he asked with feigned innocence.

Joan couldn't help but match his smirk. She gave him a playful punch on the shoulder. "You better stop calling me that before we get there, _Holmes_."

"Why?" Sherlock asked with a grin, rubbing his arm as if she'd hurt him. "Worried about assumptions, are we?"

Joan moved closer, not stopping until she was standing right in front of him. "No," she whispered before giving him a quick kiss, "I'm worried about them finding out the truth."


	3. Career Day

Joan held Alex's hand while they walked into the school, but she was also keeping one eye on Sherlock. He was bouncing around a bit as he walked on Alex's other side, trying to keep himself from speeding up or falling behind. He'd never admit it, but Joan could tell he was nervous. He was out of his element. She smiled to herself. He could face down serial killers without batting an eye but talking to a bunch of kids unnerved him. When Sherlock nervously glanced over at her, Joan did her best to give him a reassuring smile.

It was career day at Alex's school. Despite their initial protests (or, in Sherlock's case, outright refusal), Alex had convinced Joan and Sherlock to come to school with him today and tell his class about their job. But convincing them hadn't been easy.

Alex had worn his mom down first. It didn't take him too long. Alex knew his mom's weak spots and how to convince her. All it had taken was a sad puppy look (which Joan noticed Alex had mimicked from his Uncle Sherlock's "I want something and I'm about to guilt you into agreeing" look) and a plaintive "all my friends' parents are coming mom," and Joan had caved. She reluctantly agreed to help him try to convince Sherlock.

This was an altogether tougher task. Sherlock had been completely against the idea from the start ("murder investigations are hardly an appropriate topic for nine-year-olds, Watson!") and thus had taken more convincing. Joan had repeatedly tried to convince him that it would make Alex happy if he came, but it had been to no avail.

Eventually, however, Alex and Sherlock had spent an hour in the media room "hanging out" together, and when Joan had called them down for dinner, she was amazed to hear that Sherlock had agreed to come to career day. Joan demanded to know how her son had convinced him, but Alex just gave her a smug smile and Sherlock merely shrugged. She still didn't know.

Now, watching Sherlock pace around as Alex ran off to greet some friends, Joan realized the real reason he hadn't wanted to come. He was nervous. Him, Sherlock Holmes, intimidated by a classroom of nine-year-olds. Joan chuckled to herself.

"They're just kids, Sherlock," Joan told him when she finally caught his eye. Sherlock grimaced at her but said nothing and kept pacing the hall. Grabbing his arm to stop the pacing before someone noticed, joan asked "what's the matter? It's not like you to be nervous about public speaking."

"It's not the speach I dread, Watson," he protested quickly.

"Then what is it?" Joan asked. "Don't tell me you don't like kids. Pretty sure Alex could tell you that's not the case."

Sherlock shook his head, annoyed at having to explain himself. "Of course I _like_ kids. But a whole classroom of kids, watching you, judging you... That's different. Kids are observant, Watson. They see you in a way adults fail to. And talking to a whole group of them at once.. Talking about _ourselves_..." He paused, looking at her curiously. "This doesn't unnerve you at all?" He asked, completely serious.

Joan stifled a laugh. She knew laughing would only incense him. "No, of course not," she said, then repeated "they're just kids," with a shrug.

Sherlock grimaced again and turned away. He kept pacing until Alex returned and led them to his classroom. The room was crowded. About 15 kids had brought their parents today, so the teacher had set up chairs along the perimeter and back of the room to accommodate everyone.

As Alex took his seat near his friends, Joan heard one little boy ask him, "are those your parents?" while pointing back at Joan and Sherlock.

Alex laughed, shaking his head. "That's my mom and her partner, my Uncle Sherlock." The other kid took another look at Joan and Sherlock, then he shrugged. The two boys fell silent as the teacher started talking and the day got started.

As the other parents gave their speeches and kids asked questions, Joan alternated between watching Alex exchange glances with his friends and Sherlock silently judge all the other parents. At one point, Sherlock leaned over to Joan and whispered in her ear, "shall we tell the teacher that the man currently talking is a raging alcoholic?" Joan shot him a glare and lightly slapped his arm, mouthing _NOT NOW_. Sherlock grinned and looked forward again, clearly entertaining himself by silently deducing the man's other vices.

Too soon for Sherlock's taste, it was their turn. Joan gave him a reassuring glance as they headed to the front of the room.

Joan did most of the talking, explaining what they did and how they worked with the police. Sherlock just added a few comments here and there, still mostly engrossed in silently investigating the other parents. When their little speech was done, the teacher asked the class, "Does anyone have questions for Miss Watson and Mr. Holmes?"

One of the boys in the back of the class raised his hand. When the teacher nodded for him to talk, he asked, "do you guys have police badges?"

Joan started to answer, but Sherlock's hand on her arm indicated he'd fence this one. She looked at him in surprise, but his smirk indicated he was getting more comfortable talking to the kids. Looking back at the boy, Sherlock shook his head. "No, we're not police so we don't have badges. As Miss Watson said earlier, we merely consult with the police."

The boy seemed disappointed, but the teacher moved on to the next student, a girl who asked "how many dead bodies have you seen?"

A bunch of kids made "eeeeeeeew" sounds, and Joan laughed. "Enough," she said, "but we don't keep count."

Sherlock smirked at her, but didn't contradict her. _God_ , Joan thought, _he probably does keep count_. She was instantly glad she had answered the question.

Another boy piped up and asked, "have you ever killed anyone?" He got an angry glare from his teacher for that, who looked at Joan and Sherlock apologetically. Sherlock started to answer, but Joan stopped him with a glare, afraid of what exactly he might say.

"You don't have to answer that," the teacher said, a little embarrassed. Joan looked grateful. The teacher turned back to the class. "Anyone else?"

The boy Alex had been talking to before raised his hand, and the teacher called on him. He looked at Sherlock quizzically and asked, "if you're Alex's uncle, how come you're Brittish?"

Sherlock pursed his lips and made a confused face at the boy. "I'm British because I was born and raised in England..." he said, clearly not understanding the point of the kid's question. He glanced at Joan for assistance, she was much better at deciphering "kid-speak" than he was.

Sherlock was surprised to find Joan's cheeks had turned red. Curiously, she was embarrassed by the question. That's when Sherlock realized what the kid had meant to ask. His mouth made an "ohhh" shape before he turned back to the kid and started to say "technically speaking, I'm-" Joan grabbed his arm and cut him off.

The teacher, who had no doubt been made aware of Alex's "unconventional home situation", realized how they were floundering and turned red herself. Before either Joan or Sherlock could say anything more, the teacher said "let's keep the questions about their jobs, kids." Glancing around the room to make sure they understood, she asked, "anyone else?"

When no one else raised their hand, Joan and Sherlock gratefully ceded the floor to the next parent.

* * *

When they returned to the Brownstone together that evening after school, Alex was beaming. He had really enjoyed getting to show off in front of his friends, and Joan was glad they had gone. Secretly, Sherlock was glad too.

"Thanks for coming today, guys," Alex said, giving Joan a huge hug which she returned equally. She dreaded the day when he would reach the age where hugging your mom was no longer "cool".

Alex turned to Sherlock, sticking his hand out for their traditional fist bump. Sherlock knocked his knuckles, grinning. Alex said, "my friends all agreed, your job was the coolest out of all of them today. So now I'm the coolest. You guys rock!"

Joan laughed, taking his coat and hanging it up. "I'm glad you had fun, she said before ushering him toward the stairs. "Why don't you go to your room and work on some homework for a bit while I get dinner ready, okay?" She asked.

"Alright," Alex agreed, grabbing his backpack and trudging off.

When he was gone, Joan turned to Sherlock. "Seriously, thanks for going today," she said with a genuine grateful smile. "I'm sure it meant a lot to Alex, having us there."

"It was no problem," Sherlock assured her, secretly pleased that he had made both Alex and Joan happy.

"By the way," Joan said as she started ruffling through the pantry for food, "how did Alex convince you to go?"

Sherlock gave her a mischievous grin. "Watson, the things that are discussed during our man time are between us. Sorry, but I'm not at liberty to discuss it." He shrugged.

Joan laughed. "'Man time?' Really?" All that got her was another shrug. "So that's how it's gonna be now? You two are gonna have secretive man time that I'm not invited to?"

Feigning disinterest, Sherlock picked up his phone to look busy. "It's like a brotherhood, Watson," he said. "What is discussed stays between the members."

Joan shook her head, still laughing. "So do you two have a name for this 'brotherhood'? Or should I just keep calling it 'man time'?"

Sherlock didn't reply. He merely smirked at his phone silently. Joan was enjoying this. Inwardly, she was glad they had "man time". Alex needed an older man he could go to, someone with whom to discuss thing that he would never want to talk about with his mother. Once again Joan was struck by how lucky they were to have Sherlock in their lives.

"Anyway," Joan said. "Thanks again for today."

Idly scrolling through his inbox, Sherlock muttered, "As I said, it was no problem." Still looking at his phone, he added as an afterthought, "I enjoyed it more than I expected, actually."

Joan saw right through his facade of nonchalance. She could tell he was pleased at how the day had gone, and she figured he had probably enjoyed bragging about himself to Alex's friends.

After a pause, Sherlock set his phone down and said, "However, we probably should sort out the whole 'uncle' thing. I suppose Alex has reached an age where his friends are intelligent enough to realize his 'uncle' talks funny, and they're old enough to start asking questions."

"Yeah," Joan sighed, sitting across from him at the table. "I guess you're right. We're probably going to have to come up with an easy way to explain it."

"Or," Sherlock said, "he could just call me something else..." he grinned mischievously across the table at her.

Joan, knowing what he was suggesting, returned his grin and rolled her eyes. "Don't think for a second I'm going to let him call you 'Detective'."

They both laughed, and when Joan got up to finish making their dinner, Sherlock stopped her, motioning for her not to bother. He took over at the stove, finishing the cooking for her. "Well, one way or another," he said, glancing at her over his shoulder, "we'll figure it out."

Joan walked up beside him and leaned her head on his shoulder. He slipped his arm around her waist. "We always do."


	4. Father's Day

_A/N: wow 14 followers already? Thank you all so much! It really means a lot and I'm glad you're enjoying these little stories :) sorry it's been a bit since I last updated this. I re-wrote this chapter a few times since I wasn't happy with it. Hope you all like it!_

XX

Joan always felt slightly anxious and guilty when the third Sunday of June rolled around. As kids and dads all around New York were celebrating Father's Day, Joan couldn't help feeling doubly bad. First, she felt bad because Alex had no one to celebrate with, and second because Sherlock absolutely refused to let her get him anything to recognize his contribution to their little family. Even though they'd both agreed before she's even adopted Alex that Sherlock would not be her son's father, she still felt guilty for not taking the time to celebrate him and his part in their lives.

This year, Alex had invited a friend over to hang out with. They were upstairs playing video games in the media room while Sherlock was in the kitchen making dinner. He'd rebuffed her attempts to help cook tonight, so Joan idly made her way upstairs to check on the boys.

When Joan approached the media room and hear the boys chatting, she stopped just outside the door and listened. Generally, she respected Alex's privacy and tried not to eavesdrop on him too often, but she was worried about him today, and her mother bear instincts got the better of her. She listened as the boys talked about sports. Alex's friend was talking about how his dad had taught him to play baseball before he left.

"Left for what?" Alex asked.

"Deployment," the other boy responded. "My dad's in the Navy and he's deployed right now. He's coming home in two weeks, so we're gonna celebrate Father's Day with him then."

"Oh," was all Alex said. There was a pause before Alex got up the courage to ask, "what's it like to have a dad?"

Joan frowned sadly before the other boy responded, "it's pretty cool. He teaches me lots of stuff, like how to play baseball and stuff. And when he's home he takes me out on his boat and teaches me to fish."

Alex just said, "cool."

"Yep," the other kid said. "Plus he teaches me Navy stuff, like writing in code and stuff."

The kid was starting to brag, and Alex butted in, "my Uncle Sherlock taught me how to write and decipher code too."

"That's cool," his friend replied. "Maybe we should start writing notes in code to each other at school!" They both laughed.

The conversation ended as the boys' attention turned back to their video game, so Joan snuck away. She was glad Alex hadn't seemed too upset about not having a dad around, he'd been more curious than anything. Still, times like these made Joan wonder if she'd made the right choice in establishing their unconventional little family.

* * *

When it was time for dinner, Alex's friend went home and the three of them sat down for dinner. Alex and Joan chatted about his new video game for a bit before silence fell over the table.

After a few minutes, Sherlock noticed Alex looking at him curiously. He attempted to ignore the glances the boy was throwing his way, but he was unable to. Eventually, he said kindly, "Alex, if there's something you want to say, just say it."

Alex flushed, embarrased at having been caught. Hesitatingly, he asked, "will you tell me about your dad?"

Sherlock frowned, momentarily confused at what had provoked the question before he remembered what day it was. He sighed. He hated talking about his family, but it was hard for him to deny Alex much of anything. "We aren't close," he muttered. "He was largely absent for much of my childhood. We never had a typical father-son relationship."

Alex frowned too before falling silent and staring at his plate while he ate for a bit. After awhile, he asked, "Uncle Sherlock, will you teach me to play baseball?"

Joan hid a sad smile, knowing where that question had come from. Sherlock, on the other hand, wasn't aware of the conversation Alex had shared with his friend earlier. Unaware, Sherlock replied with a laugh, "I'm afraid I don't know much about playing baseball," he said, smiling at Joan. "Your mother, on the other hand, is quite the fan of that sport. She likely knows much more about it than I do."

Joan laughed a little. "I'll take you both to the batting cages some day," she said.

Alex wasn't satisfied. Neither Joan nor Sherlock missed his look of disappointment. Looking back at Joan, Sherlock noticed she had a sad look to match Alex's. He sought for something to say to cheer them up. He considered all the things he and Alex liked to do together, finally saying, "but, if you want, we can finish building those model cars you have and then work on your pinewood derby car."

Alex beamed. "Awesome! We'll make the fastest car! All my friends will be jealous." Happily, he finished eating his food.

Sherlock matched Alex's smile and was relieved when he noticed that Joan's anxious look had disappeared. She was smiling at him, a grateful look in her eyes.

* * *

When Alex had finished his food, he put his dishes in the sink and went upstairs to find his model car kits. Joan got up to do the dishes and Sherlock came up beside her to help her.

Smiling up at him, Joan bumped his shoulder. "Thanks," she said simply.

"For what?" He asked.

"For being there for Alex, for answering his questions and agreeing to do things with him," she said quietly. "And for everything else you do for him. For us both."

Sherlock smiled down at her. "No thanks are necessary, Watson," he assured her. "I'm lucky to get to do things like that with him. Alex is a special kid."

After a pause, Joan asked, "why won't you let us get you something on Father's Day?" He started to answer with hys typical protest, and Joan quickly interrupted him. "I know we agreed you wouldn't be Alex's father, and that's fine. This arrangement works for us. But still, you do so much for him, and I think it would be good for both of you to celebrate your relationship together."

Sherlock considered her question for a moment before saying haltingly, "Because, Watson. You know better than anyone the failed relationship I have with my father. His presence in my life, sparing though it was, was never a positive thing. To me, the idea of a father is associated with many bad memories and negative emotions. Therefore, I have no desire to be considered a father, and I do not enjoy the idea of a day dedicated to celebrating the idea. I also do not want to taint what I have with Alex by adding the label of "father" to it, as I do not think highly of that particular label."

After an awkward pause, he added, "besides, I'm not his father, and celebrating Father's Day with Alex would likely only lead to confusion."

"No," Joan whispered, finding his hand with hers under the soapy dish water and giving it a squeeze. "You're not his father. You're something better."

* * *

When the dishes were done, Alex came back downstairs, his model car kit in tow. Joan went upstairs to do some reading while Sherlock helped Alex get everything set up on the kitchen table and they got to work. He let Alex do most of the work, only helping when Alex asked for it or giving small suggestions on how to improve the model for better performance. They sat there for a few hours, working together and genuinely enjoying each other's company.

When it was Alex's bedtime, Joan came back downstairs to get him. Reluctantly, he put his things away and went upstairs to get ready for bed. Joan took his seat, sitting across the table from Sherlock. She reached across the table, taking his hands in hers and smiling at him before saying, "he's lucky to have you, you know. We both are."

Sherlock smiled back, shaking his head slightly. "No, Watson," he said, "I am the one who is lucky to have the two of you."


	5. The Search for Clyde

Sherlock sat bent over a case file on his desk, in the same place he had been for the last seven hours since Alex had left for school that morning. Since he'd left, Joan and Sherlock had been working on a cold case together most of the day, but Joan had gotten up about twenty minutes before to go do some chores around the house before Alex got home. She'd been cleaning upstairs, but recently she'd come back down in a hurry.

Sherlock was dimly aware of the sound of Joan shuffling things around in the kitchen and then huffing in annoyance, but he ignored it, assuming she'd misplaced something, and turned back to the files.

A few minutes later, Joan called from the kitchen, "Sherlock?"

Her voice sounded agitated. Sherlock sighed. He reluctantly got up and went into the kitchen, stopping in the doorway. "Yes?"

Confusion and slight frustration were evident on Joan's face. Did you use Clyde for some experiment or anything today?"

Sherlock's face registered confusion to match Joan's. "No," he replied slowly. "I fed him when I first got up this morning, but I have been working on the cold case since. I haven't seen him. Why?"

Joan sighed heavily, her body deflating. "He's not in his terrarium," she said urgently. "I went to feed him and he's not in there. I didn't think you had taken him out, but I looked everywhere, and I can't find him, so I wanted to make sure."

She looked quite upset about it, so Sherlock resisted the temptation to roll his eyes and did his best to be comforting. "He's only a tortoise, Watson," Sherlock assured her, "he couldn't have gone far. Come on, I'll help you look." Joan managed a nod and a small smile of thanks.

Sherlock turned to head up the stairs to look up there, but Joan stopped him. "I've already looked everywhere up there," she said. "Let's start in the basement."

Sherlock shrugged his consent and followed her downstairs. When they got to the basement, Sherlock went left and Joan went right. Unsure of where to start looking, Sherlock randomly started turning over boxes and rummaging through their things, more and more of which seemed to make their way to isolation in the basement as the years went on. He decided to start at the far wall and make his way back toward the stairs.

As Joan searched underneath everything in sight, she started calling softly, "Cly-yde… Cly-yde… Where are you Clyde?"

Sherlock grinned at her from his spot across the basement. "Watson, Clyde can't hear you, you know," he said sarcastically. "And even if he could, he can't answer you."

Joan sneered at him. "I know that," she said, slightly annoyed. But she stopped calling anyway. Sherlock's grin faded and he kept looking.

As the minutes passed, Joan got more and more frustrated. She started huffing as she looked and tossing things around. It was very unlike her to get frustrated this easily, so Sherlock was starting to worry about her. He was on the verge of asking her if she was alright when she turned over the last box in the basement with an angry sigh. "I don't think he's down here," she huffed, heading to where Sherlock now stood by the stairs. "Let's look on the main floor."

As she approached him, Sherlock could see the worry growing on her face. When she passed him to go up the stairs, he stopped her with a hand on her arm. Looking into her eyes, he said, "He's here somewhere. We'll find him, Watson."

Joan just nodded blankly. "Alex will be home soon," she said quietly. "We'd better find him quickly. Alex will be crushed if we've lost him."

Sherlock smiled comfortingly. "Then we'd better look upstairs," he said, motioning for her to lead the way.

No sooner did they make it up the stairs than they heard the front door open. Alex was home. Joan sighed and sat down on the first step of the staircase leading upstairs.

Sherlock met Alex at the door and gave him a fist bump. "How was school today young man?" He asked, a little too enthusiastically.

Alex grinned. "It was great!" He exclaimed, more excited than he usually was when returning from school. Glancing around Sherlock, he saw his mom sitting on the stair looking frustrated. His grin faded a bit at the look on his mom's face. "What are you guys doing?" He asked warily.

"We're looking for Clyde," Sherlock admitted. Not being able to see the sharp warning look Joan gave him from behind, he added, "He seems to have escaped his terrarium."

Sherlock expected Alex to either be upset or to ask to help look, but instead the boy's face turned red and he glanced down at the floor with a sheepish smile. Something was amiss. Sherlock furrowed his brow and looked at the boy questioningly. "…Alex?" he asked slowly, giving him an inquisitive stare, "might you know where our little friend has gotten to?"

Alex nodded sheepishly, avoiding eye contact with either adult. Slowly, he took off his backpack, set it on the floor gently, and pulled out Clyde.

Joan saw all this from her spot on the stair and jumped up, running over to where they stood in the doorway. "Alex!" She exclaimed, giving her son a disapproving look. "You took Clyde to school with you?" Her voice was a mix of anger and incredulous surprise, and Sherlock hid his smile. He had never been good at discipline when it came to the boy. He had said that he felt the disciple was better left to his mother, but in truth he always found Alex's childhood misdeeds and adventures rather amusing. However, when Joan was upset with Alex, Sherlock knew better than to laugh and risk turning her ire onto him.

Alex could tell his mom was getting upset with him, so he tried to placate her. "It was show-and-tell day, and I wanted to bring him in," he explained, his face still red.

"Well why didn't you tell us?" Joan asked, exasperated. "We've been looking all over for him!"

Alex shrugged and put on his best innocent pout, looking at the floor. "I guess I just didn't think about telling you," he said quietly, adding a sad little "sorry mom."

Joan's anger and frustration left as quickly as it had appeared. She sighed. "It's alright Alex," she assured him, gently taking Clyde from his hands. "But I bet he's hungry. Let's put him back and get him some lettuce, hmm?"

Alex nodded and followed her out, but on his way past he glanced back at Sherlock with a triumphant smile that said _that was too easy_. Sherlock grinned at him. He had to give the kid some credit, he sure knew how to play his mother. His antics amused Sherlock to no end. Sherlock shook his head in amusement and followed them into the other room to help tend to their rediscovered tortoise.

* * *

After dinner that night, Joan went upstairs to take a shower, leaving the boys downstairs to work together. Alex was finishing up some homework while Sherlock returned to the cold case he'd abandoned when the search for Clyde had begun.

When Alex finished his homework, he snuck a glance at Sherlock before saying, "Uncle Sherlock?"

Sherlock responded, "hmmm?" without looking up from his work.

"Can I tell you a secret?" Alex asked furtively.

The urgency in his voice amused Sherlock. With a grin, he put down his file and turned to the boy. "Sure Alex," he said quietly, putting his elbows on his knees to bend down closer to Alex's height. "What's the big secret?" he asked with an indulgent smile.

Alex's face reddened as he glanced toward the stairs to make sure his mom was nowhere within earshot. When satisfied, he whispered, "it wasn't show-and-tell day today."

Sherlock squinted at him. He hadn't been expecting that revelation, as Alex didn't typically lie to them. Or, Sherlock supposed, if he did, he never admitted it later. But before he could respond, Alex laughed. "You're giving me that look again," he said.

Taken aback by the abrupt change in conversation, Sherlock squinted even more and asked, "what look?"

"That look you do when you're trying to figure me out," Alex said with a grin. "When I confuse you, you do that look." He pointed at Sherlock's face for emphasis.

Sherlock chuckled. "Well Alex, I must admit, you have confused me." Leaning closer to appear more conspiratorial, Sherlock continued, "you rarely lie to your mother. So why tell her it was show-and-tell day if it wasn't? And why take Clyde to school without telling us?"

Alex looked around furtively again. When he was once again sure that his mom wouldn't catch him, he whispered, "because my friend Emily loves turtles. I told her about Clyde the other day and she didn't believe I had a pet tortoise. I wanted to show him to her so I could impress her."

Alex's face was growing red again and Sherlock couldn't help but grin. "And was the young lady impressed?" He asked with a smile.

Alex nodded. "Yeah, she loved him." He grinned proudly, and Sherlock laughed to himself as he realized why Alex had been so happy upon returning from school earlier. Alex's eyes suddenly widened and he quickly added, "but please don't tell my mom!"

Sherlock's smile grew, but he nodded. "Your secret is safe with me young man," he promised, sticking his fist out. Alex returned the fist bump with a conspiratorial laugh.

* * *

 _A/N: Thanks for reading guys! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! And a huuuuuuge thank you to all of you who have followed and reviewed, it really means a lot to me! Sorry it's been ages since I updated this, but hopefully I'll be able to get around to more additions soon :)_


	6. Surprise!

Alex sat on the couch near the window, eyeing his mom as she got her things together to head out. She was calling to him from the kitchen, listing the chores he needed to do before she got back from dinner with her sister. Alex was making the occasional noise to acknowledge he heard her, but he wasn't really listening. In his mind he was making preparations and counting down the seconds until his mom left.

From across the room, Alex stared at where his Uncle Sherlock was sitting at his desk, looking at him intently until Sherlock finally looked up and met Alex's eyes. Alex smiled at him broadly, but Sherlock grinned and shook his head. _Not yet._ Alex tried not to sigh audibly.

Joan came back into the room and Sherlock turned back to the computer in front of him. Alex pretended to be staring off into space. "Alex?" Joan asked, "are you listening to me?"

"Yes mom," Alex replied, trying to hide his smile. He put his hand up and started ticking off the chores she had listed on his fingers. "Make my bed, clean my room, feed Clyde," he intoned, smiling at her sweetly. "I got it."

Joan smiled back. "Alright." She reached down and ruffled his hair, "Well, I'm heading out." Raising her voice a bit to be sure Sherlock heard her too, she added, "You two be good while I'm gone!"

From his spot at the computer, Sherlock said "no promises."

Joan laughed and Alex said, "tell Aunt Lin I said hi!"

Joan promised to convey his message before turning to head out the door. Alex waived as she left, then turned to look out the window. He watched her walk out to the cab, get in, and drive away.

As soon as she was out of sight, he jumped up and ran over to Sherlock's desk, eagerly leaning on the side of the desk. "Come on Uncle Sherlock, come on!" he urged him, "we have so much to do and who knows how soon she'll be back!"

Sherlock laughed at the boy's enthusiasm. "Alright, alright," he said as he got up from his chair and stretched. "Let me call a cab and we'll get going."

* * *

When the cab pulled up in front of the store, Alex was basically pulling Sherlock out of the car in his haste to get in. "Come on!" he called as he ran into the store, leaving Sherlock to trail behind him. "We have to get one of everything!" Alex exclaimed. Sherlock sighed and grabbed a cart, following him in.

Once inside the store, Sherlock was dismayed to find that it was one of those ridiculous stores where everything is sorted by color. Sherlock found these stores to be incredibly corny, but Alex loved it, so Sherlock sighed and followed him around.

Alex insisted on going down every aisle. He picked out banners and ribbons, wrapping paper, novelty paper plates and napkins, and even some of those little paper horns. Sherlock personally abhorred those things, but Alex was so excited when he found them that Sherlock didn't have the heart to make him put them back. He reluctantly added them to the growing pile of items in their cart.

When their cart was nearing capacity, Sherlock checked his watch. "Alex, we better finish up here soon," he warned. "We still have one more stop and a lot to do at home before your mother returns."

"I know, I know!" Alex cried. "But don't worry, I called Aunt Lin earlier this morning and asked her to keep mom at lunch for as long as she could." He grinned in self-satisfaction. "She asked why, but I told her it was a secret." Sherlock grinned and shook his head. The kid sure was resourceful. They'd taught him well.

While they stood in line, Alex got distracted by the jars of candy that formed the line markers, and Sherlock caught the lady in line behind them eyeing their full cart. Sherlock squinted at her and she finally realized he had caught her staring. "You're buying a lot there," she said, nodding at their cart. Sherlock hated making small talk with strangers, so he just nodded and tried to turn away, but the lady was faster than him. "Looks like it'll be quite the party," she said, "your son is a lucky kid."

Sherlock opened his mouth to reply and stuttered, about to explain that Alex wasn't his son, but the cashier called "Next!" and Alex grabbed Sherlock's arm.

"Come on Uncle Sherlock!" he said, pulling on Sherlock's arm in haste. Sherlock gave the woman an awkward half-smile and turned away, following Alex to check out.

* * *

Their next stop was the bakery. Sherlock had called ahead the night before and placed their order, so all they had to do was run in and pick up the cake. He asked the cabbie to wait for them and followed Alex inside.

When Sherlock went up to the desk to pick up their order, Alex inspected the array of brightly-colored candles. He found a box that said the candles sparkled, so he grabbed those and put them on the counter. Sherlock looked at him questioningly, so he said, "What? We can't have cake without candles!" Sherlock mock-frowned at him but got the candles anyway. Alex grinned.

* * *

When they got back to the brownstone, Sherlock carried the cake and a few bags while Alex grabbed as many bags as he could loop on his arms and followed him inside. They set the cake and candles on the kitchen table and got to work decorating the brownstone.

They hung up a banner in the hallway where Joan would see it when she got home. They put one over the fireplace too, and then they strung up ribbons in the kitchen. Sherlock showed Alex how to twist the ribbons to make them swirl, and Alex was delighted. They put out three plates and three napkins on the table around the cake, and Alex added a little paper horn to each place setting. Sherlock tried not to roll his eyes as Alex kept an extra horn for himself and handed one to Sherlock too. He took it reluctantly. When they'd finished with everything else, Alex put the candles on the cake and Sherlock lit them.

When they were done, the brownstone was bursting with color. "Well," Sherlock sighed, "what do you say Alex? Have we "decked it out'"?" he asked, using the phrase Alex had previously used when explaining the plan to him a few days prior.

Alex grinned. "Oh yeah," he said happily, "it'll be great." Sherlock smiled at him ang gave him a fist bump. Their plan was working perfectly.

Suddenly, the phone rang. Sherlock went to pick it up. "Hello?" he said, glancing back at Alex's questioning face. "Ahh, okay. I see. Thank you." He hung up and turned to Alex. "That was your Aunt Lin," he explained. "She said your mother left the restaurant a few minutes ago and should be home any time now."

"Perfect!" Alex exclaimed. "Let's get ready."

They turned off all the lights in the brownstone and sat next to each other on the steps, staring at the front door, paper horns in hand. Sherlock has his free hand on the light switch. The only lights in the whole place were the flickering, sparkling candles on the cake.

* * *

When Joan returned home, it had gotten dark outside. Lin had been very talkative at dinner, and since they hadn't caught up in a while, Joan had lost track of time during their conversation. She hadn't realized how late it was until she got home and the street outside the brownstone was dark.

Squinting up at the house, she realized all the lights were turned off, even though it had gotten dark outside. _That's weird_ , she thought, wondering if the boys had gone out. Surely Sherlock would have at least sent her a text before going anywhere this late? She checked her phone, but there was nothing. Shrugging, she made her way to the door.

On the other side of the door, Alex waited in anticipation. He'd heard the cab pull up and the door close as she got out. He grinned up at Sherlock who returned his smile, hidden though it was in the darkness.

Finally, the door opened.

When Joan stepped inside, Sherlock flipped the switch to turn on the lights as Alex yelled "SURPRISE!" and blew on his horn. Joan looked momentarily stunned before realizing what they'd done. She smiled brightly as Alex ran over to hug her and said, "happy birthday Mom!"

Joan laughed at him and hugged him back. "Thanks sweetie," she said, looking up from him to meet Sherlock's eyes where he still stood by the stairs, a matching grin on his face. "What is all this?" She asked them both.

Alex grabbed her hand and tugged her into the living room. "Come see!" he exclaimed excitedly, "we decked out the whole place!" He pulled her along, showing her all the banners and ribbons they'd put out, and Sherlock followed along behind them, content to let Alex bask in the glory of his surprise plan.

When they made it to the kitchen, Joan gasped. "You even got a cake?" She asked in surprise.

"Yep!" Alex said triumphantly. "You can't have a birthday without a birthday cake!"

As Joan laughed again and gave Alex another hug, Sherlock got out a knife and held the handle out to Joan. "Would you like to do the honors?" he offered.

She shook her head with a grin. "Go ahead," she said.

Sherlock nodded and cut the cake, placing a piece on each one of the three plates they had set out around the table. Alex sat down eagerly to eat his, and Sherlock went to the sink to rinse off the knife. Joan followed him, leaning her back against the counter so she was facing him as he ran the water in the sink. When he looked up at her, she smiled. "Did you do all this?" she asked him, quietly so Alex couldn't hear.

Sherlock inclined his head toward the table where Alex sat. "It was his idea," he promised her, adding demurely, "I merely helped."

Joan smiled brightly at him as he dried his hands on a towel and turned around, leaning his back against the counter next to her. Joan leaned over and rested her head against his shoulder. "Thank you, Sherlock," she whispered.

Sherlock smiled and put his arm around her shoulders. He kissed the top of her head gently, whispering back, "Happy birthday, Watson."


	7. An Evening in the Apiary

_A/N: Apologies in advance if this chapter isn't the best, I wrote it on a bit of a whim. I'm still DYING over the finale! Too many feels! So I needed to write something quick before I fell into a hiatus writing coma XD Anyway, hope you all enjoy it!_

* * *

As the sun was starting to dip toward the horizon on a lazy Sunday evening, Joan stood at the kitchen counter prepping Alex's lunches for the week ahead. She hadn't heard much from either of her boys since dinner. Sherlock had gone up to the roof to tend to his bees, and Alex had gone to the media room to play some video games before the weekend ended.

Just as Joan was finishing up the meals and putting them in the fridge, Alex came bounding down the stairs and into the kitchen.

"Hey, mom?" he asked as swung around the corner. Without waiting for a reply, he asked, "have you seen Uncle Sherlock? I think I messed up the audio on one of the TVs and I need to ask him a question."

"I think he's still up on the roof," Joan told him. "Do you want me to go get him for you?"

Alex shook his head. "Nah, that's okay. I'll go get him." He turned and ran back up the stairs, calling a quick "thanks Mom!" As he left.

Joan, now finished with the meals, watched him run up the stairs with a smile. Impulsively, she decided to follow him up to the roof. After all, it had been awhile since she'd been up there, and she really enjoyed the view of the city.

When Joan reached the top of the stairs and approached the door to roof, she could hear the muffled sounds of the boys chatting. Slowly, she cracked the door open just enough so that she could see out but not so much that it reached the point on its hinge where she knew it would creak. Glancing out, she saw Sherlock and Alex with their backs to her, staring at the expanse of bees in Sherlock's apiary. Sherlock was pointing to the top of the first hive. He appeared to be explaining something about the bees to Alex. Joan smiled and strained to hear what they were saying.

"This is Apis Mellifera," Sherlock intoned, saying the name carefully and slowly so that Alex would comprehend it, "commonly known as the Western Honey Bee. These bees come from Europe originally, but they are now the most common bee worldwide."

It seemed neither of the boys had noticed Joan's presence, so she took the chance to stand there and watch as her two favorite people spent time together. The small moments like this always warmed her heart, and she couldn't keep the contented grin off her face.

Alex appeared to be examining the bees Sherlock had pointed out. After a few seconds, he turned to Sherlock and said, "They just look like regular bees to me." Sherlock chuckled a bit and Alex asked, "Are those the kind of bees we have here in New York?"

Sherlock nodded. "Yes, they are. I would wager that's why they look so familiar to you."

Idly watching the bees go about their business, Alex said, "my friend Joseph is allergic to bees."

From her place by the door, Joan stifled a laugh.

Sherlock grinned down at Alex. "Well then," he said in a lightheartedly teasing manner, "we'll have to make sure he doesn't come up here when he comes to visit, hmm?"

Alex laughed and nodded before his eyes wandered to the next hive. Pointing to it, he asked, "what are these ones called?"

"These little ones are Apis Cerana, or the Eastern Honey Bee," Sherlock said. The teasing sound disappeared from his voice as it regained its authority. He had a particular way of talking when he was informing people about things. Joan and Alex secretly referred to it as his "lecture voice", but that tone nonetheless always got Alex's rapt attention. Sherlock added, "These ones come all the way from their native home in Asia."

Alex nodded pensively, watching the hive for a few seconds. Then he asked, "how come all the names start with "apis"?"

Sherlock smiled. For such a young boy, Alex was very inquisitive, and Sherlock never could hide how proud he was of Alex's inquisitive nature. Although he would never admit it, Joan knew Sherlock loved teaching Alex anything the boy could think to ask about, and they both thrived because of it. Indulgently, Sherlock explained, "because apis is the Latin word for bee."

Alex nodded slowly, absorbing the information he'd learned so far. He glanced over the multitude of hives remaining when one caught his eye. Sherlock noticed him zero in on one particular hive, and he wasn't surprised that Alex was fascinated by the biggest bees in his collection.

With wide eyes, Alex asked, "what are these big ones called?"

With a grin, Sherlock said, "Those would be Apis Dorsata, the Giant Honey Bee. The come from Asia as well."

"Cool," Alex said as he watched the bees with fascination. However, after a few moments, he lost interest, as young kinds are wont to do, and glanced sideways at Sherlock. "You have a lot of bees," he said bluntly.

Sherlock chuckled. "Yes, I do. I'm somewhat of an admirer of the species I'm afraid. I currently have four different species of bees in my apiary."

Alex looked confused for a moment as he ran back over what he had just been told in his head. He counted the bees that Sherlock had named. He ticked them off on his fingers, making sure he didn't miss one. Sherlock could tell what he was thinking, so he wasn't surprised when Alex said matter-of-factly, "you only told me about three."

Sherlock nodded. "That's right," he said with a conspiratorial grin. "I keep the last one in a special hive." With a nod, he beckoned for Alex to follow him to the end of the row of hives. "This one," he said, pointing at hive, "is my personal favorite." Proudly, he announced, "this is Euglassia Watsonia."

In the doorway, Joan smiled.

Alex turned away from the bees he had been examining and gave Sherlock a questioning look. "'Watsonia'?" He echoed curiously, clearly recognizing the similarity to his own surname.

Sherlock smiled gently. "That's right," he said. "I was fortuitous enough to discover this particular species of bee, and as such I was granted the right to name it." After a short pause, he added nostalgically, "I named it after your mother."

Idly remembering the day they had taken down Moriarty and Sherlock had told her about the bees, Joan got lost in thought and shifted her weight to lean on the doorframe. To her instant dismay, she moved the door more than she had meant to, and it creaked. She winced. Her secret was out, her observation over.

At the sound of the creaking door, Sherlock turned around quickly. He was momentarily surprised to see her there. "Ah, Watson," he called with a wave, "come join us. Alex and I were just discussing the bees."

Although Joan was surprised he hadn't noticed her before, he had given no indication that he'd known how long she had been there, so she said nothing. Instead, she walked over to where the boys were standing, still examining the last of the hives. She stood between them, slightly to Sherlock's left, and put her right hand on Alex's shoulder. "Did you learn anything new about bees, Alex?" she asked. She was aware of Sherlock watching her, but she kept her eyes on Alex.

Under her hand, Alex turned around to face her. "Yep!" he exclaimed. "Uncle Sherlock told me all about the different kinds of bees he has."

"Really?" Joan asked brightly. She glanced at Sherlock with a quick smile before turning back to Alex. "So, what did you learn?"

Alex looked pensive for a moment, then said, "He has four kinds of bees. Most of them are called Apis something, because Apis means bee. Like the big giant ones are called Apis Dorsata. And the ones that we have here are called Apis M-Mel…"

He struggled to pronounce the unfamiliar word, so Sherlock supplied, "Mellifera."

"Yeah," Alex said, echoing "Mellifera." He turned back to face the hives and pointed at the ones right in front of him. "But these aren't called apis anything because he named these ones after you."

Joan looked over at Sherlock with a warm, private smile. "Yes," she said quietly, "he did." Sherlock found himself unable to keep from returning her smile, remembering the evening he had told her the bees' new name. Alex continued to watch the bees, unaware of the moment passing between the adults.

The adults were brought back to the present by the sound of Alex's voice when he asked, "Uncle Sherlock?"

Shaken out of his reverie, Sherlock broke eye contact with Joan and looked down at Alex quizzically. "Hmm?" he asked.

"Why _did_ you name these bees after mom?"

Sherlock's smile came back slowly. Despite herself, Joan felt her cheeks turn slightly red. Sherlock sighed a bit and thought of how best to explain it all. "Well," he said pensively, "it's a rather long story. But the long and the short of it is," he looked back up at Joan as he said, "she saved my life."

Alex didn't say anything, but he nodded as he absorbed that information and turned back to the hive. He resolved to ask them for the full story later.

With Alex's back to them, Joan gifted Sherlock with one more beautiful smile before she leaned her head on Sherlock's shoulder and watched Alex as he watched the bees. Each lost in their own thoughts, the three of them stood like that, watching the bees until the sun set over the city behind the hives and Joan chased Alex inside for bed.

When Alex was all tucked in, Joan returned to the roof. She was unsurprised to find Sherlock sitting on the stool he had pulled over, still in the same place she had left him. Joan grabbed the extra chair and dragged it over next to Sherlock's stool. He looked over at her. She looked back at him. There were so many things they both could have said in that moment, but neither of them felt the need to say anything. Without needing to speak, they both understood how the other felt. They both smiled briefly before looking back at the Euglassia Watsonia hive.

They stayed like that until Joan's eyes started to droop and Sherlock coaxed her up and took her inside. After ushering her to her bedroom, Sherlock went back to the roof. He spent the rest of the night watching Watson's bees and relishing in the fact that he could now admit to himself that he was truly happy.


	8. Nightmare

_A/N: This might be slightly OOC, but I hope not. I tried to imagine what Sherlock would do in a situation like this which would be so far out of his comfort zone, so I hope it worked! It ended up being waaaaay more soft than I had planned, but hopefully that's a good thing XD Please let me know what you think! Thanks for reading and enjoy :)_

* * *

Sherlock sat hunched over the most recent updates in a case he had received a few days prior. At this late hour, the brownstone was mercifully quiet. Joan had gone to stay with her mother for the night while her step-father went away on a short emergency business trip, and Sherlock had assured her that he and Alex would manage fine on their own. Since it was a school night, it would have been inconvenient for Alex to have gone with her, so he'd stayed at the brownstone with Sherlock for the evening. Sherlock had sent Alex to be a few hours earlier and had spent the last few hours working in silence. The clock was now nearing midnight.

Given how quiet the place had been for the last few hours, Sherlock was acutely aware of the sound when a door creaked open upstairs and soft footsteps made their way down the hall. Sherlock recognized them as Alex's footsteps and assumed the boy was just going to the bathroom. However, instead of heading to the bathroom at the end of the hall, the footsteps made their way to the stairs, down them, and to the entrance of the room where Sherlock sat. Sherlock smiled to himself, and without turning around, he said, "you are supposed to be in bed young man."

Alex jumped a little at his voice, and when Sherlock spun his chair around to face the room's entrance, he noticed the boy's face was reddening and he was staring at the floor in slight embarrassment. When Alex said nothing, Sherlock teased, "If your mother finds out I let you get out of bed this late, she'll kill me." Alex looked up at Sherlock and smiled a little, but still said nothing. After an awkward pause, Sherlock raised one eyebrow at Alex and asked, "do you need something Alex?"

Alex shrugged and looked down at the floor. Sherlock could tell something was wrong, but he didn't know what. He always found children harder to read than adults, and to his occasional frustration, Alex was particularly good at hiding his thoughts from him.

Alex shuffled his feet around for a bit and studied his slippers. Finally, he whispered, "I had a nightmare."

"Ahh," Sherlock said, finally understanding why Alex had come downstairs so late. With a quiet sigh, he got up from his desk and headed toward the living room, motioning for Alex to sit on the couch. He did, and Sherlock sat down next to him.

There was another awkward pause while Sherlock tried to decide how best to help Alex, before Alex quietly said, "I usually tell mom when I have nightmares, and she helps me go back to sleep."

Sherlock nodded stiffly, unsure of how to respond. Whenever Alex was upset, Joan usually handled it. Sherlock was not very good at being comforting, so he found himself immensely out of his element in this. "Well," he asked eventually, "what does your mom usually do to help you go back to sleep?"

Alex shrugged. "Different stuff. Usually she tells me stories." Sherlock just hummed in response, so Alex turned to him inquiringly and asked, "do you know any good stories?"

Sherlock fidgeted for a moment before stiffly shaking his head. "None that would banish your nightmares I'm afraid," he said, attempting for levity but falling a bit short. Trying again, he attempted to lighten his voice and said, "perhaps I should have your mother teach me some of her bedtime stories, hmm?"

To Sherlock's relief, Alex grinned and nodded. "Yeah," he said, "she knows a lot of them."

"I'll bet she does," Sherlock agreed.

Alex shifted on the couch so he was staring toward the opposite wall. He grabbed one of the throw pillows and clutched it to his chest, resting his chin on top of it. He sighed, and they lapsed into awkward silence again. Sherlock sought desperately for something comforting he could say, but before he thought of anything, Alex asked, "do you ever have nightmares, Uncle Sherlock?"

Sherlock was momentarily surprised by the question, and he found he was unsure how to answer. As unfamiliar as he was with comforting frightened children, he was even worse at talking about himself. However, he figured that in this situation, honesty would be the best option, so he nodded slowly. "Yes, sometimes," he said quietly.

Alex turned his head to look at Sherlock in surprise? "Really?" he asked. Sherlock just nodded, and Alex smiled a little. "About what?"

Sherlock shrugged uncomfortably. He had no desire to tell the boy the details of his worst nightmares, as that seemed more likely to give Alex _more_ nightmares, which would be counterproductive. Plus, he had never told anyone about his nightmares, and he wasn't about to start now. Instead, he hedged. "Oh, many things," he mused. "Mostly my past. Things I've done, or people I knew, that sort of thing." As he trailed off he noticed that Alex was staring at him. In an attempt to deflect the conversation off himself, Sherlock awkwardly turned so he was facing the boy and asked, "do you want to talk about your dream?"

Alex shook his head. "Not really," he whispered.

Sherlock didn't know what else to say, so they sat there uncomfortably for a few more minutes, each avoiding eye contact with the other. Finally, Alex asked, "Uncle Sherlock?"

"Yes Alex?" Sherlock replied.

Alex quietly asked, "if you don't know any stories, can you make one up?"

Sherlock was tempted to refuse or hedge again. He'd never been any good at making up stories, but the earnest look on Alex's face stopped him. He sighed, ill at ease, but recultantly nodded slowly. "I suppose I could try…" He drawled. Alex smiled, and, putting down the pillow he was holding, he laid on his side on the couch and curled up on the pillow, looking up at Sherlock expectantly. Sherlock resisted another sigh and asked, "What kind of stories do you like?"

Alex pondered that for a moment, then said, "how about one where you and me and mom are superheroes?"

Sherlock chuckled at that. "Superheroes huh?" he asked, and Alex grinned, nodding enthusiastically. Sherlock asked, "What should our superpowers be?"

Alex looked thoughtful before replying, "I want to be able to fly, and I think mom should be able to be invisible. She'd like that, don't you think?"

Sherlock nodded, doing his best to look approving. "Oh yes, I think she'd enjoy that very much." He glanced down at where Alex lay smiling up at him from the pillow. "So, what should my power be then?"

Alex didn't have to think twice about that. "You should be able to read minds, because mom always says you can read hers anyway."

Sherlock laughed in surprise. "I assure you, I can't read her mind," he laughed, and Alex looked at him skeptically. "I just know her very well," Sherlock assured him. "But, I think we'd make an excellent trio of superheroes with those three powers."

"Yeah," Alex agreed, "we would."

Trying to put off actually having to come up with a story, Sherlock asked him, "do we need superhero names too?"

Alex yawned and shrugged. "I guess," he sighed. "Like… I can be FlyBoy, you can be MindReader, and mom can be InvisiMom?"

Sherlock snickered. "I'll be sure to call her that from now on," he laughed.

Alex giggled. "When she comes home, we should just call her that, and not tell her why," he said with another yawn.

"She would be very confused," Sherlock said, unable to keep the quiet laughter out of his voice. Alex's imagination never ceased to amuse him. "So," he sighed, determined to come up with a story for Alex. "Since your mother isn't here to defend her character, let's say that InvisiMom's arch-nemesis has captured her in his secret lair, and FlyBoy and MindReader have to go rescue her." Alex didn't reply, so Sherlock continued. "We'll have to find the place first. So, FlyBoy, where do you think she's being held?" he aked.

Sherlock paused but Alex didn't respond, so Sherlock glanced over at him. To his relief, the boy's eyes had closed and his breathing had slowed. He'd mercifully fallen back asleep. Sherlock breathed a silent sigh of relief: he was spared of having to come up with any further story for their superheroes.

He stood up slowly so he didn't wake Alex and gently pulled the blanket off the back of the couch. Gingerly, he placed the blanket over Alex's sleeping form. "Sweet dreams, Alex," he whispered before heading back to his desk. Sherlock decided he would stay awake and work downstairs for the remainder of the night in case Alex's nightmares woke up, as Sherlock didn't want the boy wake and find himself alone again.


	9. Long Night

_A/N: Hey guys! Sorry I'm like a million years late on this, and it's super short… But it's exam time and I needed a study break, so here's this little snippet! Hope you all enjoy :)_

Joan blinked at the paper she held in her hands, wondering if she'd momentarily drifted off. She'd lost track of the number of late nights they'd had working on this case, but it had to have been at least five hours since she had corralled Alex upstairs to bed tonight. Joan shook her head lightly to wake herself up and looked one more time at the picture she was holding, wondering why she had picked it up in the first place.

Stifling a yawn, she glanced over from her place on the couch to where Sherlock still sat in the floor, papers strewn out around him. He looked wide awake. Joan sighed.

"Find anything interesting?" She asked, stretching a bit.

Sherlock drummed his fingers on the floor in momentary contemplation before replying, "perhaps…." He unfolded himself, got up, and moved toward the couch where Joan sat. Handing her a piece of paper, he said, "take a look at this."

Joan set the picture she was holding down and took the paper from him. "Financial records?" she asked, trying hard to stifle another yawn.

"Precisely." Sherlock replied. Without explanation, he picked up the picture Joan had put down and sat down on the floor, his back against the couch next to her legs. Joan looked back at the financial records. They weren't even their suspect's records. Joan sighed once more. It was going to be another long night.

* * *

The next morning, Alex emerged from his room after his school-day alarm went off and shuffled down the hall to the bathroom to get ready. To his surprise, his mom wasn't in the bathroom. She was usually just finishing up when Alex got up, and then she'd go make breakfast while he got ready. The empty bathroom was unusual, but Alex shrugged. Perhaps she'd finished early this morning.

Upon exiting the bathroom, Alex noticed that the brownstone was oddly quiet for this time in the morning. Usually by now he could hear his mom making breakfast and his Uncle Sherlock telling her about some new thing he read or some cold case that was stumping him. But today there were almost no sounds, and the smell of coffee was only the stale, lingering scent of coffee made late last night, and not the fresh smell that usually greeted him when he came down the stairs in the mornings. With one more dismissive shrug, Alex padded down the stairs to see where everyone was.

Out of habit, Alex first went to the kitchen. That's where everyone tended to congregate at this time on a typical morning. Upon entering the kitchen, Alex frowned. It was empty. Curious now, he went into the living room and had to stifle a laugh. The room was a mess: the floor was still strewn with papers and pictures, and on the couch was the answer to the utter silence of the morning: Joan and Sherlock had evidently worked until exhaustion overcame them both. Now they both lay on the couch, tangled up in each other and covered in papers and notes of all sorts.

Quietly, Alex tiptoed over to the desk in the corner, which conveniently held a large book. It was even bigger than the dictionaries in his classroom, and it was a hardcover. Alex grinned. He picked the book up and unceremoniously dropped onto the table with a loud and satisfying thud.

Joan and Sherlock both woke up with a start, both clearly unsure of where they were or what had happened. Alex laughed. Sherlock blinked a few times and then, realizing where he was, he jumped to his feet.

Joan rubbed her eyes and looked over to where the noise had come from. "Alex," she said, sleep still slurring her voice. "What time is it?"

"8:15," Alex said, still chuckling to himself. "You guys worked all night again didn't you?"

Sherlock, feeling thoroughly awkward and more than a little disoriented, sought a way to escape. "Yes, well," he said with all the seriousness he could muster, "I suppose I'll go make some coffee."

Joan yawned and ran a hand through her hair as she dragged herself off the couch. "I guess I better make you some breakfast if you're going to catch the bus on time," she said, getting up to follow Sherlock to the kitchen.

Alex followed his mom into the kitchen, shaking his head and laughing to himself. Those two did this kind of thing more often than they'd ever admit, and every time he caught them passed out together in the mornings, like that they acted like guilty teenagers in dumb movies. It never ceased to amuse him.

* * *

Later, as Alex got on the bus and pulled away from the stop, Sherlock called them a cab. "Where are we going?" Joan asked.

"To the station," Sherlock replied as a cab pulled up to the curb. Holding the door open for her, he climbed in behind her and added, "I believe I know who the killer is."

Joan rolled her eyes. "Did you just figure it out, or could you have told me that last night and saved us another sleepless night?"

"It wasn't entirely sleepless," Sherlock said in mock-protest.

Joan tried to glare at him, but she couldn't keep the grin off her face. "You never did tell me the significance of the financial records," she said.

"All in due time, Watson," Sherlock promised.


	10. Valentine's Day

_A/N: I know this is a bit late, but I had to wait for the weekend before I had time to write. Please accept my apologies for the delay ;) Enjoy, and happy (belated) Valentine's Day my dears!_

"Mom, I'm out of tape," Alex protested from his place at the kitchen table.

Joan sighed. "I'm making dinner right now Alex," she replied. Alex groaned in frustration, so Joan said, "Sherlock, can you get him the tape?"

Sherlock, seated at the other end of the table from Alex and surrounded by crime scene photos, grunted in reluctance but stood up anyway. He left the kitchen momentarily before returning with a tape dispenser in hand. "Here you are Alex, continue your project," he said, handing the tape to Alex. Sherlock reclaimed his seat before heaving a sigh and saying, "I don't understand why the school has the children do this anyway. America has a large enough problem with childhood obesity, but the schools still think it's a good idea for the children to buy cheesy cards for everyone in the class and tape candy to them?"

Joan suppressed a laugh. She wasn't surprised he thought the whole thing was stupid.

Alex, undisturbed by Sherlock's moodiness, shrugged. "Valentine's Day is lame," he said in typical 10-year-old boy fashion, "but at least it's an excuse to have a party at school."

Sherlock nodded, assenting to at least the first part of his statement. "It is an antiquated holiday," he pronounced. "Today's traditions in no way resemble the traditional liturgical veneration of St. Valentine that originally commenced this holiday. It has become nothing more than a chance for card and flower companies to convince people that they must purchase their loved ones material things in order to prove the depths of their affection."

"I don't know," Joan mused as she removed their dinner from the stove. As Sherlock got up to clear his pictures from the table and get some plates out of the cabinet, Joan continued, "I think it's nice to have a day to celebrate the people you care about."

When the dinner was distributed, she sat down between her two boys, continuing, "sure, Valentine's Day is not what the devout followers of patron saint of love probably imagined it would be, but traditions change over time. Now it's a day where people take time out of their ordinary lives to celebrate the people they love. It's not that bad."

Sherlock smirked at her. "I never took you for a romantic, Watson," he quipped.

Joan rolled her eyes. "I'm not saying I'm a romantic," she protested. "I'm saying you're a cynic."

Sherlock laughed. "You didn't know that already?"

Joan grinned. "Of course I did," she joked. "I just enjoy pointing it out when you're being overly negative." Sherlock grinned back at her, their eyes meeting in jest for a few seconds. Joan shook her head and turned back to her plate. "Eat your food," she told him. He obliged, still grinning.

When dinner was finished, Alex gathered all his little valentines and left the kitchen to pack his bag for school the following day. Joan was clearing the table as Sherlock washed the dishes. She came up behind him and handed him the last plate. She couldn't resist teasing him a bit more, so, picking up their last conversation, she said, "I really don't know why you're so against Valentine's Day."

Sherlock sighed. "Watson,"

Joan cut him off before he could protest. "You know," she said, "you of all people should be a fan of St. Valentine."

Sherlock looked quizzically at her over his shoulder. "And why is that?" He asked.

Joan smiled. "Because he's the patron saint of beekeepers. He's right up your alley."

Sherlock shook his head. "Watson, the man is also the patron saint of plague and epilepsy. Besides, my bees and I are doing just fine, and I have yet to attend one liturgical celebration in honor of him."

Joan shrugged. "Fair enough," she conceded. "But still, I think you're being too harsh in dismissing Valentine's Day. It makes some people happy, so isn't that reason enough to celebrate it?"

"Watson, your argument is pointless. Groundhog's Day makes some people happy, and even you must admit that there is no logical reason for that celebration."

Joan laughed. "Did you really just compare Valentine's Day to Groundhog's Day?"

Sherlock responded with some long-winded explanation of the pointlessness of each holiday, but Joan tuned him out. She knew it was useless arguing with him at this point. He'd just double down and she'd get nowhere. She figured it was best to just let him think he'd won.

* * *

Alex's party the following day was a success. He came home in a near sugar coma, with plenty of candy to spare.

Later that evening, Joan went out to dinner with her sister. It was a Valentine's Day tradition they'd started a few years ago, and since then they'd gone out to dinner every year if they were both single. She'd left the boys at home, but not before securing a promise that they wouldn't eat all the candy in one sitting while she was out.

When she returned to the brownstone, the boys were nowhere in sight. Joan frowned for a moment before she heard Alex yell something from upstairs. She smiled. They were in the media room playing video games, their typical pastime when she left them to their own devices.

Hanging up her coat, Joan made her way into the kitchen to see if they'd cleaned up after themselves post-dinner. When he turned into the kitchen, she had to do a double-take. There was a big bouquet of roses and a heart-shaped box of chocolates on the kitchen table.

With a smile, Joan went to check it out. There was a little card hanging off the ribbon that was tied around the flower vase. Joan opened it. Inside, in the handwriting she'd recognize anywhere, it said:

"Happy Valentine's Day, Watson. -SH" Then, at the bottom, it said, "P.S. Despite my own feelings about this day, I now know that it's important to you, so therefore it is important to me."

Joan stared at the note, her smile widening.

Joan's moment of happy reverie was interrupted by another yell from upstairs. Letting the note fall back down against the vase, Joan went upstairs to join the boys. As she sat down next to Alex, he handed her a controller so she could join their game. She took it, and then glanced over Alex's head to Sherlock. When he turned and met her eyes, she gave him a thankful smile. He returned it, pleased that she had appreciated his acknowledgment of her.

After a few seconds, Joan turned to face the TV screen and said, "alright boys, bring it on." Alex started the game, and they spent the next hour chasing each other around in some digital world, laughing, and generally enjoying each other's company.

Best Valentine's Day ever.


	11. Late

Alex sat at the table and ate his dinner while he watched his mom pace back and forth across the kitchen. She would make a few laps, down and back, down and back, then pause for a second, check her phone, then huff and keep walking. She had yet to touch her food. It now lay cold and forgotten on the table.

This wasn't all that unusual. There were often tense nights in their household. In situations like this, Alex had learned that it was best not to bother the adults. They didn't like to answer his questions in times of crisis. However, Alex would always start putting some clues together himself. Before long, he could usually figure out the problem. He had been raised by two of the world's best consulting detectives, after all. Thus, Alex had already come up with a working theory as to the cause of his mother's current agitation.

Uncle Sherlock was late for dinner. _Very_ late.

On nights when he didn't make it home for dinner, Joan always told Alex what Uncle Sherlock was doing and explained aloud why he wasn't home yet. Alex never had to ask. She did it almost reflexively, as if she needed to reassure both her son and herself that Sherlock was safe.

Tonight, she hadn't given an explanation. And Alex knew better than to ask.

Alex had surmised that she didn't know where Uncle Sherlock was. He figured her anxious pacing was because she was worried about her partner. When this had happened once before, Alex had made the mistake of asking his mom what was wrong and where Uncle Sherlock was. When he'd asked, she'd gotten a pained look on her face and grimaced, and Alex knew she didn't know. She had come up with some plausible explanation for his absence, but Alex was smart enough to know what was happening.

So tonight, he said nothing. He didn't ask. He just ate his food, watched her worry, and willed his Uncle Sherlock to come home soon.

* * *

The sound of clattering dishes interrupted Joan's reverie. When she stopped pacing she saw that Alex had finished his dinner and put his plate in the sink. She glanced at her untouched plate and sighed. She had completely forgotten to eat. She was too distracted for food.

She did her best to smile for her son, although she could tell it wasn't convincing. "All done?" She asked in forced lightness. Alex nodded but didn't say anything, so she added, "why don't you go upstairs and start getting ready for bed?"

"Okay," Alex halfheartedly agreed. It was still early and he was reluctant to go to bed yet, and besides, he was supposed to wait up tonight. But he knew better than to argue at a time like this. He trudged up the stairs, deciding on his way up to prolong the process of getting ready for bed as long as he could. At lest then he would be able to tell Uncle Sherlock that he had tried to stay up.

As Alex got ready for bed, he could still hear his mom's footsteps from upstairs. He kept listening while he brushed his teeth and hoped that whatever was wrong would resolve itself eventually.

Alex finished brushing his teeth, washed his face, and changed into his pajamas, then made his way back to his room. With no chores left to do before bed, he simply sat on his bed and read his book for a bit, awaiting a change in the status quo downstairs.

Eventually, Alex heard his mom's phone ring. It barely got through one full tone before she answered it. It was probably already in her hand; she hadn't set it down all evening. To Alex's dismay, however, she talked too quietly for him to hear much. She probably thought he was in bed already and didn't want to wake him. Little did she know that when she stayed awake worried, Alex stayed up too. This had happened a few times after the first time he made the mistake of asking questions. Alex had always managed to find a way to stay awake long enough to see the safe return of his Uncle Sherlock and the end of his mom's worry before falling asleep.

This was the latest he'd had to wait though. Uncle Sherlock usually showed up by now. And today of all days... He should be home.

Curious now, and more than a little worried, Alex padded back downstairs. He rounded the corner into the kitchen and found his mom sitting at the table.

"Hey mom?" He called softly.

Joan looked up in surprise, as if she hadn't been expecting to see him there. "I though you were in bed, mister," she chided.

Alex shrugged noncommittally and went to sit across the table from her. "Who called?"

"Detective Bell."

Alex tried not to sigh at the brevity of her answer. He was reluctant to push, but it seemed that if he wanted answers, he was going to have to ask some more questions. His mom wasn't going to volunteer anything. He usually wouldn't ask, but today was an important day, and Uncle Sherlock was way later than usual. Alex reluctantly gave in to his curiosity. Timidly, he ventured, "you haven't heard from Uncle Sherlock, have you?"

Joan unconsciously glanced down to where her phone lay on the screen was dark; there were no new messages or calls. She shook her head and sighed. "No." With a huff she got up from the table and started pacing again. "He should have been home hours ago. He said he was just going to meet with a witness. She was harmless. It should have been short and easy. But now he's late, and he's not answering my texts and his phone goes straight to voicemail."

She was ranting without realizing what she was saying. Alex tried to steer the conversation to get more information before she caught herself and ended it by telling him everything was fine and shuffling him back upstairs. "What did Detective Bell say?" he asked.

Joan shrugged. "Just that they can't reach him either."

Alex frowned. Although it wasn't unusual for one of the adults to worry the other by coming home late, they weren't usually _this_ late. Sherlock's absence was unexpected, even more so given what day it was. Alex sighed and tried to think of ways to be helpful. At last he suggested, "did you try asking the person he was supposed to go see?"

Joan nodded. "Detective Bell called her. She said Sherlock stopped by a few hours ago and left after about 20 minutes." She sighed heavily, sat back down, and rubbed her face with her hands. "Anyway," she said, looking back at her son, "you need to get to bed. You have school tomorrow."

Alex frowned and put on his best sad puppy face. "But earlier I promised Uncle Sherlock I would wait up for him. He made me shake on it and everything."

"I know, sweetie," Joan said softly, "but he thought he would be home earlier, and now he's really late. He wouldn't want you to be too tired for school tomorrow. Come on. I'll take you upstairs."

Alex sighed. Resistance was futile at this point. He reluctantly got up and met his mom at the bottom of the stairs. Before they went up, though, he looked up at her and asked, "mom? Is Uncle Sherlock gonna be okay?"

Joan did her best to give Alex a reassuring smile. "He always is," she promised.

Internally, though, Joan was plotting how to kill Sherlock for making them worry so much. He should have called.

Just as mother and son turned to head up the stairs, the brownstone's front door opened and a figure appeared in its frame. The hallway lights revealed it to be the mysteriously absent Sherlock. He shut the door behind himself and turned to regard two people in front of him with a somewhat callous smile. "Sorry I'm late," he declared as he hung up his jacket, "errand took longer than I expected."

"Uncle Sherlock!" Alex grinned. "You're back."

"Yes," Sherlock replied, turning his attention to Joan. She looked furious. Sherlock's grin shriveled.

Joan glared at her partner before momentarily concealing her frustration and turning to her son with a smile. "Well, now that we know Uncle Sherlock is alive, it's way past your bedtime."

Alex glanced at Sherlock and shrugged. "I waited up for you," he offered.

"Oh... yes, right," Sherlock replied, seeming somewhat flustered. "Good. But your mother is right. You best get to bed young man. It is very late."

Joan shot Sherlock a look that said, _no, you are very late. _Sherlock did his best to ignore her scorn as she turned her attention back to her son. With a little more prodding, Joan was able to corral Alex up the stairs. He made his way to his room while Joan went back downstairs to confront her partner.

Joan gave him no opportunity to speak before launching her tirade. "Where were you?" she demanded. "You had us worried sick! I called you but you phone went straight to voicemail. I even called Marcus, but he hadn't heard from you either. Do you even realize how worried we were?"

Joan was prepared to continue lecturing him, but Sherlock cut her off with a dismissive waive of his hand. "Watson, Watson, I'm fine," he assured her. "There was no need to worry. I was just running an errand."

To Sherlock's dismay, it seemed his attempt to pacify his partner had the opposite effect. "How were we supposed to know not to worry?" Joan insisted. "You didn't even say you were going on an errand! You could at least answer a text and let me know you're alive!"

Sherlock gaped at her, momentarily confused. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and the confusion turned to clarity. "Ahh." He turned the screen toward Joan. It was black. "Phone died. I didn't think I had missed any messages or calls from you."

Joan huffed. That explained one thing. She could feel her anger abating somewhat, but she wasn't entirely ready to forgive him yet. "You really don't understand how worried you make us when you disappear like that."

Sherlock was relieved that Joan seemed to be somewhat mollified. "In the future, I will be sure not to leave the brownstone without a fully functional device," he offered.

Joan searched his face for hints of his typical sarcasm. There were none. "Good," she breathed, relieved. "Anyway," she sighed, "you forgot, didn't you?"

Sherlock blinked in mock-misunderstanding. "Forgot what?"

Joan rolled her eyes, her frustration returning. "Sherlock, I reminded you just last night -"

Again, Sherlock cut her off. "No, Watson, of course I did not forget. I wouldn't." Joan looked at him skeptically, so Sherlock continued, "that little boy means as much to me as you do. I think that says enough," he shrugged, "but in case I need to say more, I should tell you that he actually looks up to me. Very few people trust me the way he does, implicitly. You don't think I would take that for granted? I would never do anything to ruin his trust in me, so you can rest assured that I have not let him down."

Joan squinted at him. "What errand were you running, exactly?"

* * *

When Alex reached his room he was surprised to find a box on his bed. It hadn't been there when he had come up to change just a bit ago. With childlike innocence and curiosity, Alex opened it without hesitation. As he pulled the top off the box, his eyes lit up as he beheld a brand new baseball signed by his favorite Mets player and three tickets to an upcoming game. Alex gaped at the gift for a second before he found a card. He eagerly pulled it out as well.

 _Though your mother has yet to convert me to a baseball fan, I thought the three of us ought to attend a game soon. Perhaps the two of you will succeed in your joint efforts to convert me before long._

 _Happy birthday, Alex._

 _-Uncle Sherlock_


	12. A Meeting

"That's odd," Joan muttered as she slapped the rest of the mail on the kitchen table.

Sherlock's voice came from behind her: "what is?"

Joan hadn't realized she'd spoken aloud, so it took her a moment to respond. She scanned the letter in her hand once more before turning around and handing it to her partner. "It's from Alex's school," she said unnecessarily as his eyes began scanning the page.

Sherlock finished reading the letter and his brow creased in confusion. "They want to speak with us?" He asked, looking back up at her.

Joan nodded, her features a mirror of his confusion. " _Both_ of us," she emphasized.

"Well, Alex has never gotten in any trouble at school before," Sherlock stated. "You don't suppose he's done something wrong, do you?"

Joan shook her head. "He's only had one issue at school before. He had some problems with another boy in his class two years ago. The kid was a bully," Joan huffed, her eyes rolling involuntarily. The whole episode still agitated her. She waived it off. "Long story. But Alex hasn't mentioned anything recently, so I don't know what this could be about." She paused before adding, "But even then, when his teacher wanted to discuss it, they only asked to see me."

Sherlock looked back at the paper in his hand. The real reason for Joan's confusion became clear. "And now they want to see us both."

Joan nodded. "I'll call his teacher in the morning and set up a time. Is Friday after school good for you?" Her partner nodded. "Okay," Joan sighed. "I guess I'll go get Alex ready for bed then. I should probably ask him if everything is okay at school."

"Alright," Sherlock agreed, adding "let me know if you need anything." Joan smiled her thanks and headed up the stairs.

* * *

About thirty minutes later, Joan came back downstairs to find Sherlock sitting at the kitchen table doing some research on his laptop. He glanced up when she came in. "Any luck?"

Joan didn't have to ask what he meant. She sat down across from him and shook her head. "He said everything is fine, and I can tell when he's lying. He wasn't. He seemed confused that I'd even asked."

Sherlock shrugged. "I suppose we will find out on Friday then," he said.

"Yeah," Joan sighed. She studied the table, idly picking at a stray splinter.

Sherlock could read the worry on his partner's face. "Watson," he said softly, bringing Joan's attention back to him. "He's a good kid. You've raised him well. I'm sure everything will turn out to be okay."

Joan smiled softly, whispering "thanks." She sighed and tried to put the worry aside for the moment. Nodding at the laptop, she asked, "any new developments?"

Sherlock seized the opportunity to distract her. "Actually, yes," he declared before proceeding to fill her in on his latest find. Joan banished the concern from her mind. Sherlock was right, Alex was a good kid. It was probably nothing. For the time being, until Friday, Joan decided to throw herself into their work. Worrying wouldn't solve anything.

* * *

The week proved to be a long one for Joan and Sherlock, but Friday came eventually. They met Alex briefly as school let out, but Joan had arranged for her brother pick Alex up so he could spend the afternoon with his big cousins while Joan and Sherlock met with his teacher.

Joan had seemed distracted all day, no doubt preoccupied with the impending meeting. They'd shared theories for the meeting back and forth throughout the week, but they hadn't managed to come up with anything satisfying. The uncertainty and motherly concern were driving Joan insane. She couldn't get to the meeting fast enough.

As the pair headed back toward Alex's classroom, however, Joan paused for a moment and squinted at Sherlock.

When Sherlock noticed she had stopped, he turned around in concern. "What is it?" he asked, suspicious as to her motives for suddenly stopping on the way to a meeting she was anxious to attend.

"That's a new tie," Joan observed. The abrupt change in topic caught Sherlock off guard for a moment. He made no response. Joan continued. "And you weren't even wearing a tie earlier."

Joan didn't need to say more. Sherlock knew what she was insinuating. He suppressed the urge to sigh. "This is the first time I've met Alex's teacher," he muttered, "Perhaps I wanted to make a good impression." His face reddened somewhat against his will. "Can we please just get on with it?"

Joan chuckled at him but said no more. She turned and lead the way to the classroom.

They had been expecting to meet with Alex's teacher, but when Joan and Sherlock opened the classroom door, they were surprised to find two people sitting behind the teacher's desk. The pair had apparently been conversing, but they stopped talking and rose when Joan and Sherlock entered the room. The woman Joan recognized as Alex's teacher, Ms. King, shook both of their hands.

"Ms. Watson, Mr. Holmes, thank you for coming in," she said pleasantly. Gesturing to the other woman, she added, "this is Mrs. Lopez, our school guidance counselor."

"Guidance counselor?" Sherlock echoed in surprise.

At nearly the same time, Joan asked, "is something wrong?"

"No, no," Ms. King assured them, "everything is fine. Please, sit down," she invited, waiving at the two chairs on the opposite sides of the desk.

As they sat down, Sherlock suspiciously asked, "if everything is fine, why are we here?"

The two women shared a sympathetic yet knowing glance between them before Mrs. Lopez started talking. "We asked the two of you in here today because we'd like to talk about Alex's home life," she said. Her voice had that apologetic yet slightly condescending and accusatory tone that teachers and school administrators tend to use when confronting uncomfortable topics with parents. Sherlock tried not to grimace or roll his eyes as she asked, "how are things at home for Alex?"

Joan shrugged. "Wonderful," she said, a look of confusion crossing her face. "We've managed our work schedule so that at least one of us is always home when Alex is home from school, and we spend as much time with him as we can. I can't imagine why there'd be a problem..." Joan trailed off and glanced at her partner, hoping he'd chime in and confirm what she said.

Instead, she found Sherlock glaring at the guidance counselor with even more suspicion than he'd had before. As the attention turned to him, he asked, "do you ask this of all parents?" There was a heavy silence before he added, "Or is it just us?"

The two women on the other side of the desk shared a concerned look. "Well," Ms. King started, "it's just that-"

"Just us then," Sherlock interrupted defensively. He started to say more, but Joan cut him off with a look that said _**Don't**. They're just doing their job._

Joan took control of the conversation again before Sherlock could say something more. He was dangerous when defensive. "Is there a specific reason you're asking?" she asked.

Ms. King spoke up this time. "After the two of you spoke at career day, a few other parents voiced some..." she struggled for the right word before settling on "concerns. They thought that your job might be dangerous, and with your household not being a traditional family-"

"'Traditional family'?" Joan echoed incredulously. Sherlock caught the defensive tone edging into her voice as well now. "As in, other parents don't think we can raise Alex as well as they raise their children because we aren't married?"

"No one is saying that," Mrs. Lopez was quick to assure them. "We just wanted to check in. It's important that children have stability in their lives, and that they have positive role models, things like that."

"Alex has all of those things," Joan declared. "By 'role models' I assume you mean a father. Well, Sherlock may not be Alex's father, but you'd be hard pressed to find a father who cares more for their kid than he does for Alex. He teaches Alex more than any other person could possibly even know, and he spends more time with Alex than most dads ever spend with their kids. And besides, Alex loves him. Isn't that enough?" Joan wasn't aware she was ranting, but Sherlock was. No one saw his small smile as Joan continued, "And as for stability, we've been partners for nearly 17 years. We don't need a marriage certificate to tell you this partnership isn't going anywhere. I appreciate your concern, but trust me, you don't need to worry about Alex's home situation."

The two ladies looked distinctly uncomfortable. Eventually, Mrs. Lopez said "that's good to hear." she shifted in her seat. "I hope you know we aren't accusing you of being bad parents. We just wanted to make sure Alex is okay."

"He is more than okay," Sherlock answered, his smile fading and his anger returning when the focus went back to the women across the table. "So you can tell the other parents to mind their own business." Sherlock paused, then sneered, "And besides, if my deductions about some of the other parents at career day were correct, there are other parents who you ought to be much more concerned about."

Joan hissed "Sherlock." Her warning stopped Sherlock from saying more, but he continued to glare at the two women across from them.

"Look," Joan sighed, "I appreciate your concern for my son. I really do. But there's nothing to worry about with us."

The other women smiled, clearly relieved to be done with the unpleasant conversation. "Alright then," Mrs. Lopez said. "It seems there's no problem here. Thank you for coming to talk to us though. We appreciate your time, and I hope you know we just want the best for Alex."

Joan nodded and smiled, attempting yo placate them. She and Sherlock stood up to leave.

Before they made it to the door, though, Sherlock turned back around. Before Joan could stop him, he gestured frustratedly and said, "Look. Alex has a wonderful mother who loves him more than anything in the world. She gives him everything she can, and he could not ask for a better mother. And for what it's worth, though to you it may be little, he has me too. Forever. I'd give my life for either of them. So yes, our situation may not be traditional, but if you find a child more cared for than Alex, you let me know."

He stormed out of the classroom in frustration before he could see the smile on Joan's face.

* * *

Sherlock was quiet on the cab ride home. Joan could tell he was still angry, and rightfully so. She knew he was aware that the school was just doing what they had to do, but it hurt her to see people deny the role Sherlock played in Alex's life. He would never admit it, but Joan could tell it upset Sherlock when people insinuated he wasn't enough for Alex. Alex meant the world to him, and when people questioned that, Sherlock naturally got defensive. Such a head-on collision with the school was a recipe for disaster. Joan was just glad he didn't slam the door on their way out.

Eventually, Joan broke the silence. "Hey," she said, pulling Sherlock's attention back from the window. "I meant what I said in there. Alex is lucky to have you. They don't know what they're talking about."

Sherlock sighed. There was a long silence while he ruminated. Eventually he said, "Do you know what I thought on the first night you brought little Alex home? I thought, 'he's so small and helpless'." Sherlock was staring into the back of the seat in front of him, so he missed Joan's grin. "I thought, 'he needs someone to protect him. He needs _us_ to protect him, and to love him.' But most of all, I thought, 'I can't do this.'"

Joan, knowing where this was going, started to reassure him. "Sherlock-"

"I never had much of a relationship with my father," Sherlock admitted. He was so lost in thought that he was hardly aware that he had cut her off. "I thought, 'how am I supposed to be here for Watson and this baby when I don't even know what a real father looks like?' And I know we had agreed that I wasn't his father, but that didn't change the fact that from the moment I saw him in your arms, I wanted and hoped I could be enough for him. For both of you. But a part of me was always terrified I wouldn't be."

Joan was quiet, sensing that her partner had more to say. Sherlock exhaled thoughtfully. At length he continued, "But you know what happened?" He finally turned and looked at Joan with a small smile. "It all worked out. We made it work, you and me. You taught me more about being a parent and a family than I ever thought I'd even want to learn." Joan smiled softly. Sherlock didn't miss it this time. He sighed heavily, his own smile fading. "Nonetheless," he said, "it is never a pleasant experience having people tell you that they suspect you of displaying the single greatest shortcoming you fear in yourself."

Joan shook her head. "They only say that because they don't know you," she assured him. "They don't know us. You were always enough, Sherlock, for both of us. From the moment I brought him home, you were more than enough. You _are_ more than enough."

Sherlock's gaze returned to the seat in front of him. Joan could tell he wasn't convinced. She reached over and put her hand on his arm. This brought his gaze first to where her hand lay and then up to meet hers. Her voice was barely more than a whisper when she said, "stop doubting yourself. If you don't believe me, then when we get home, I want you to ask Alex who the coolest person he knows is. Who the smartest person he knows is. Who he wants to be like when he grows up. Who he goes to when he has trouble with homework or wants to learn something new. Who-"

"Watson, I-"

"They're all you, Sherlock."

The two stared at each other for a moment before a small smile crept it's way onto Sherlock's face. Joan was relieved to see that her message was getting through. She returned his smile before dropping her hand from his arm. Enough had been said, so they both turned away to look out their separate windows, alone for the moment with their thoughts.

Joan thought about how much she wished other people could see in her partner all that she saw. It killed her that no one truly understood what he meant to them. She sighed, wishing things were different, but knowing they'd make the best of how things were.

Sherlock, meanwhile, pondered how incredibly lucky he was to have found a most unlikely place in such a wonderful little family. He had never considered a family to be part of his future; in fact, he'd rather considered that impossible. But now, he'd he'd found one, and he honestly had no idea what he would ever do without them.


End file.
